


The coast awaits us

by FirenzeSun



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Reincarnation, but it is a reincarnation fic, no seriously this has a happy ending despite the tag, so somebody has to die first before they can reincarnate right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirenzeSun/pseuds/FirenzeSun
Summary: For some blessed minutes, only their breaths could be heard in the room. Jaskier had laid down his weight on Geralt, but the witcher wasn't bothered by it, instead he just caressed Jaskier's hair."I hope you realize," Jaskier interrupted the silence, "that you're never getting rid of me, ever. You're stuck with me, my love."Geralt laughed and flicked him on his forehead before kissing him. "You're an idiot. And I wouldn't have it any other way."--------A Reincarnation AU fic about second chances, moving on and how love never truly dies.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 199





	1. Jaskier

Geralt sighed as he stood in front of the door of the tavern. Familiar notes and an even more familiar voice slipped through the walls of the establishment into the Witcher's ear. After six years of not seeing the bard, it was time to face the music.

Few heads turned to watch him as he entered, the music had drowned his entrance, and the ones who did notice didn't seem that surprised. After assessing the people near him quickly, disregarding them as a possible threat, he looked at Jaskier. The bard was focused on his singing, and seamlessly, as if was just part of his movements, he turned to look at the door, a survival skill, to know who entered at all times.

His fingers faltered when he saw him, and his eyes went from shock to a hardened expression. He continued playing as if Geralt wasn't there, joyful smiles and playful winks to the women at the tavern. But the tightness in the corners of his lips gave him away.

The songs were still about him, and Geralt didn't know how that made him feel.

He asked for a beer and went to a corner, to watch Jaskier play. He wanted to give Jaskier the choice to join him or not, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't chase after him if he didn't come. When the show was over, and Jaskier had picked up his coins, he took a beer from a passing barmaid, and sat in front of Geralt. But where there had been smiles that first time, now Geralt was greeted with a cold look.

"What do you want?"

Words were never his forte and right now they lumped on Geralt's throat. Jaskier took his silence as reluctance.

"It's not coincidence nor fate what brought you to this tavern. So stop your brooding and tell me what are you seeking here."

"I-" but Geralt was still unable to speak, he had missed him. More than he was ever willing to admit. And even as he knew his silence was damning he couldn't speak, afraid of saying the wrong thing and losing him, even as he knew the silence was worse.

Jaskier sighed. "I already waited six years, so forgive me, but I ran out of patience a long time ago. Goodbye, Geralt."

"I want you to come with me," Geralt blurted as he saw Jaskier getting up.

Jaskier stopped, his back towards Geralt. "Really?" His voice betrayed no emotions, unusual for the bard.

"Yes," Geralt said, and he might be imploring, he didn't know.

Jaskier turned and sat again at the table. His blue gentle eyes, pinned him down, harsh and sad. "I gave you my best years, Geralt. Probably, sixteen years isn't much for you, but it is for me. I'm forty now. Forty. My knees ache in rainy days and my back has more bad days than good ones. I'm not young anymore, Geralt, I'm mortal and getting older, and yet I've waited for you. So tell me a good reason why I should go back to following you around."

It had been a harsh reminder, to hear about Jaskier's mortality and all the more what a fool he had been for pushing him away. Life on the Path was hard, more so for a mortal. Yet, looking at him, looking at the grey hairs that mixed on Jaskier's brown, Geralt could only come out with one reason.

"I've missed you," he breathed.

Jaskier sighed, a tentative smile on his lips, and it was almost as the years apart were lifted from his features. "I suppose that's a good reason as any." He sighed. "Alright, let's have dinner. I want a full stomach and one last good night of sleep before going back on the road again."

Geralt grunted, fighting the smile that wanted to break free from his lips.

.

"There hasn't been a contract here in months," Geralt said the next morning. "There might be one two towns over, up north."

"So, why did you come all the way here?" Jaskier asked instinctively. Geralt didn't answer, but looked at Jaskier in a way that was answer enough. Red rose through Jaskier's cheeks but he said nothing else on the topic.

They packed their belongings on Roach, and Geralt stirred her to the edge of the town where he stopped and looked at Jaskier.

"Get on her," he said.

"What?"

"Get on Roach."

"Geralt, poor Roach here won't stand the weight of both of us for a whole day," Jaskier said petting the horse's side.

"I'll walk," Geralt said not looking at Jaskier.

"What's gotten into you?" Jaskier asked dumbfounded. It broke Geralt's heart how much such a small kindness shocked Jaskier. "Is this for my back comment from yesterday? I appreciate the gesture, but really, my back has had issues since I was twenty, I'll be fine."

"You've never said anything," a pained expression crossed Geralt's face.

The bard had complained a lot on their journeys, loudly and extensively. He had complained about the road, and the hard ground, and the rain. But it had all been theatrical and superficial. It was his fault that the bard hadn't confided in him when it really mattered.

"Honestly, you wouldn't have let me travel with you if you knew."

Geralt looked down with a scowl, knowing it was true. "I've been a bad friend."

Jaskier's breath hitched as he heard the more than one admission in Geralt's words. "Alright, we can take turns on Roach, how about that?"

Geralt hummed. Accepting the small victory for what it was. They went to the next town, and Geralt felt comfort and familiarity at the sound of Jaskier's voice. But he also noticed that this time the topics were entirely superficial. Not that Jaskier spoke about philosophy necessarily before, but now none of the conversations were about himself. They were about townsfolk, about courts, but Jaskier was never present in any of the stories he told. Geralt looked at the man sitting on Roach and realized he was a stranger.

Maybe it was age. Maybe it was that Geralt had never bothered to truly know him. But it was definitely his fault.

After they had stopped for lunch, Jaskier refused to go back on Roach, insisting it was Geralt's turn. He picked up his lute from his back, and played some melodies. Geralt noticed the lack of accompanying lyrics and said nothing.

When they made camp, earlier than what Geralt usually stopped, the witcher tried to give Jaskier the biggest portions of the hare he had hunted. But Jaskier would talk, make flourish gestures and before he noticed, Geralt was halfway through the next biggest portion.

While Jaskier collected some more wood to feed the fire through the night, Geralt laid down the bedrolls. He took the extra blankets they wouldn't need because of the still warm weather and folded them under Jaskier's bedroll.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier asked, voice dry as he left the twigs and sticks on the ground.

"For your back," Geralt replied curtly.

"I'm not an invalid," Jaskier complained, irritation clearly setting on his features.

"I know," Geralt bit back, and then shook his head, because he didn't want to fight. "I know," he repeated more softly.

"If you're doing this out of guilt, then you can stop. I never cared for pity, specially yours. I know I don't look the part, but I am a grown man, I can look after myself."

"It's not guilt, it's-" Geralt struggled to find the words to let out what he felt, it was why actions were always best for him. "I want to- take care of you. Like I should've have- like I always wanted to."

"Why?" Jaskier asked, his heart on his sleeve again.

"Because you're here," _with me._ "Because you're my friend. Friends take care of each other, don't they?" Geralt looked at Jaskier imploringly.

"Alright," Jaskier accepted, blinking down with his eyes on the bedroll. "Alright."

Geralt released the tension he was carrying and smiled softly at Jaskier, a barely there smile but that the bard could see nevertheless as he answered back with a smile of his own. A soft genuine smile.

The next day, their conversation was more genuine, Jaskier either accepted or refused with their usual banter Geralt's kindness. Once again, he was this loud, bright presence in the Witchers life and Geralt felt like for the first time in six years, his mind could relax.

.

The stone burned in Geralt's pocket.

He took it in his hand and whispered elvish words onto it. A white arrow appeared on it and moved, trembling until it pointed towards a point in the horizon.

"Ciri and Yennefer need us," Geralt said.

"Where are they?" Jaskier asked poking at the rock.

"East."

"I had deduced that," Jaskier said looking at the arrow. "But _where_ are they? You never told me."

"Yennefer was going to keep on the move, so it was pointless. That's why she gave me the enchanted rock, so it'd point me to her."

"I see," Jaskier said with a cold tone. "How far away are they?"

"Doesn't say, just the direction."

"Then let's get going," Jaskier said getting up and hurrying to pick up their camp. He hated the gloom that had settled in his heart. It wasn't fair, not when Geralt's Surprise Child was involved. But the last time they had seen the witch, Geralt had chosen to hurt him. What was there to assure him it wouldn't happen again?

His bones ached, and he wondered if his heart was strong enough to withstand breaking again.

If Geralt noticed that Jaskier had grown more silent than usual, he did not comment on it. He was focused on getting to Ciri and Jaskier couldn't blame him for that.

The arrow on the stone had become looser a few days ago, signaling that they were closer as every few steps, it would shift direction. They ended up basically stumbling onto Yennefer and Ciri on the road.

"Yennefer! Ciri! Are you both alright?" Geralt asked worried. Fatherhood had changed the witcher, Jaskier reflected.

"We are, some soldiers figured out who we were," Yennefer said as Ciri run and clang to Geralt's waist, "but I managed to charm them and send them in the opposite direction. But it isn't safe anymore. I think it's time." Yennefer finally looked away from Geralt and her eyes landed on Jaskier. "I see, you found him."

Ciri raised her head from Geralt's chest and looked at the bard. "Is that Jaskier?"

"I am indeed, my lady, at your service," he said with a bow causing the girl to smile.

"Is he going to behave like this? He'll blow our cover in the first town we reach," Yennefer complained.

Jaskier glared at her, but before he could say anything, Geralt growled.

"Yen," he warned her.

It made him better, reading everything Geralt was saying with that one word in his tone.

"I have not reached this age without knowing how to be discreet when the occasion needed so, or how to divert attention to superfluous things. Managing how you're seen can be just as important as going unseen. Given your unnatural beauty, Geralt's recognizable hair and swords, my lute, and the fact that we're traveling with a child that Nilfgaard knows she's with Geralt, we can't hope to pass without being noticed. No, what we have to do is manage how we're seen."

"And how do you plan to do such a fit?" Yennefer asked mockingly.

"I'll head to a different town, one that deviates slightly from where you're heading. Rumors and song should do the work."

"No," Geralt growled.

"Geralt?"

"You're coming with us."

"Come on, think it logically."

"You're coming with us."

"Geralt, you're responsible for a child. Use that head of yours big brute. We have to be strategical."

"I'm not letting you go."

Jaskier was about to protest again. When Ciri spoke. "I'm okay with Jaskier coming," she said, throwing a pointed look at Yennefer, before directing herself to Jaskier. "I want to hear your songs."

Jaskier gapped, unarmed. "I- I suppose I could never say no to an adoring fan."

Ciri grinned at him, and threw a quick glance at Geralt who's shoulders had dropped the tension they were holding.

"Alright," Jaskier said after a while, "but can I please know where are we going?"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt said. "Ciri needs to train."

"Won't Nilfgaard know she's there?"

"No, little lark, you had said it right," Yennefer said. "Some friends will create mirages for Nilfgaard to follow far away from here."

"You have friends?"

"Jaskier," Geralt sighed, but there was no heat in Geralt's warning, just resignation and maybe even amusement.

A few hours later, they stepped away from the road to make camp, only enough light left to set up the fire and for Geralt to find dinner. The conversation flowed mostly between Jaskier and Ciri, who seemed happy to have someone eager to hear her and exchange stories. Both Geralt and Yennefer were too stern, so Jaskier was a nice change of pace.

When time to sleep came, Jaskier was surprised to see that the tent Yennefer had was modest. Barely big enough for two bodies, it was about practicality and not comfort. It surprised him, until he saw the way that Yennefer ushed Ciri inside.

The sorceress had gotten her wish it seemed.

"Goodnight, gentlemen," Yennefer said entering after Ciri and leaving the two men alone.

Geralt laid his bedroll next to Jaskier's, leaving the bard closer to the fire.

"What?" he barked under Jaskier's unmoving gaze.

"Nothing," Jaskier said tearing his eyes away, and looking at the fire. "I thought you and Yennefer had made up."

"We did."

"You did?" Jaskier hummed. "I guessed I expected a more warm welcome between the two star-struck lovers."

"We are not lovers," Geralt said coarsely.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

"We are not- we decided we're better off as friends, taking care of Ciri."

Something strange danced in Jaskier's eyes. "Well, look at that. Our dear witcher, has truly grown. Raising a daughter, leaving behind toxic relationships…"

"And focusing on the ones that matters," Geralt interrupted him.

"What?"

"On the relationships that matter." Geralt said, and the fire in his eyes was more than just the reflection of the campfire.

"Geralt," it was a warning.

"I should have said that I'm sorry. I should have never pushed you away."

"It doesn't matter," Jaskier said, a soft smile in his eyes. "We are here."

"It's not fair to you," Geralt said moving his eyes from Jaskier's face. "You forgive too easily, bard."

"Maybe," Jaskier said and his smile was even more candid. "But life's too short to hold grudges."

Geralt looked again at him. "What about Valdo Marx?"

Jaskier gaped at him. "That's- that's a complete different case. You-" His complains died at the sound of Geralt's laugh. "I missed you too, you know."

That night, with their bedrolls close together, Geralt slept with one arm over Jaskier, holding him close.

.

The travel to Kaer Morhen was with very few incidents. Yennefer's gambit must have payed off, and the further north they went, the less there was a Nilfgaardian presence. Meanwhile, Jaskier and Geralt were as close as they have ever been, no longer a rift divided them. And if during the nights they slept closer than they had ever had, well, nobody said anything. Not even Yennefer, though she did threw them a knowing look every now and then.

"I can't believe you have never taken him there," Yennefer said as Jaskier sang on the last tavern before Kaer Morhen.

"It would have been an admission," Geralt replied, knowing he could confess this to Yennefer.

Yennefer hummed. "So what changed?"

"I almost lost him because of it."

"Then don't make the same mistakes, witcher," and Geralt knew she's saying _tell him_.

"I'll try," is all he could say.

"You do have an entire winter for it," Yennefer said throwing him a look before looking back at Jaskier and clapping at the end of his song. The bard looked at her, his chest heaving with exertion, an open bright smile on his face.

He played a few songs more, before he was done for the night, and went to were the trio were sitting.

"I had never seen you perform," Yennefer said, "you're not bad."

"That is such a compliment from you, so thank you," Jaskier said, no animosity in his voice as he was still high from his performance.

"You know how to control an entire room of people, I respect that."

"Of course, you would."

"You were great!" Ciri exclaimed looking up at him.

"Why, thank you," Jaskier said dropping a kiss onto Ciri's forehead.

"Here's your food," Geralt said, pushing the bowl of stew still steaming.

"Thank you!" Jaskier said, devouring it as he was always hungry after playing for a crowd. If he noticed that Geralt had magically reheated the food, he said nothing about it.

Yennefer and Ciri shared a room, while the only other room they had rented was of course shared by Jaskier and Geralt. There was tension in the air, as they entered the room. The unspoken thing between the two was growing and growing.

"There's a draft," Jaskier said as he changed for bed.

"There is," Geralt agreed, even though there was almost no wind, and what little cold air filtered into the room was barely felt even by him.

Once under the covers, Geralt approached Jaskier, enveloping from behind. The excuse of sharing heat not enough to devoid the action of meaning.

.

The following day, Yennefer left them. She kissed Ciri and Jaskier could swear that there were tears in her eyes. She had words with Geralt that he didn't hear. And then, to his surprise, she approached Jaskier.

"Take care of them, bard. They need you."

"I don't think my lute can protect them more than a pack of witchers, but I'll try."

Yennefer sighed at him. "You know that's not what they need you, specially him. You carry their hearts, lark." She posed a hand on his cheek, and Jaskier knew he also carried hers. "May you keep carrying them."

He didn't understand why, heat rose to his cheeks. He was too old to be blushing.

"Thank you. You take care too," Jaskier said, and he meant it.

Yennefer looked at him one last time, then looked at the group they made, and rode away on the horse she had bought in the town.

.

They arrived at Kaer Morhen with dark clouds looming over them. Despite the ominous aspect, they were a blessing. When the storm broke, the snow would close the road and at least for the winter, they would be safe from Nilfgaard.

The bridge opened for them, and Vesemir received them.

"You brought your Child Surprise," he said before his eyes landed on Jaskier, just a bit behind the group. "And your bard."

Now, Jaskier only knew how to read one witcher. The skill didn't necessarily translated to others. So he didn't know how to interpret the way Vesemir had referred him. But he knew how to read Geralt.

"I did," he said in a tone that broke no argument.

Vesemir hummed, in reluctant acceptance. He wouldn't be discussing this now.

Jaskier wondered if it had been a good idea him coming here.

"Do you know how to cook, bard?" Vesemir asked him abruptly.

"Ehm, not particularly , but I'm a good learner," Jaskier tried.

Vesemir mumbled something under his breath that Jaskier didn't catch, but considering the low growl coming from Geralt it mustn't have been something too kind.

"There's a fire in the Hall, the bard and the girl can warm themselves up there. Geralt, you come with me."

Vesemir went with them to the Hall, and huffed into the direction of the fire, where at the closest table, there was another witcher. Jaskier took Ciri's hand and went towards where the witcher was while Geralt and Vesemir walked away.

"Well, hello, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Master Jaskier, troubadour extraordinaire and Geralt's faithful companion, and the young lady over here is Geralt's Surprise Child, Princess Cirilla of Cintra. Judging for what Geralt's told me, you must be Eskel."

"I know who you are, bard," Eskel said, though the 'bard' in his voice didn't sound despective. "Though I have to say, I'm surprised you managed to get Geralt talking about me."

"Oh, I had him groveling the past few weeks. It loosened his tongue a lot."

Eskel laughed. "Sit, I'll bring you both something to eat."

The witcher stood and in the silence of the crackling fire, Vesemir's voice thundered.

"It's one thing for you to bring your Surprise Child, quite another to bring just any other ordinary human!"

"He's not ordinary to me!" Geralt shouted back.

"Well, this is awkward," Jaskier said avoiding Eskel's eyes, but then having to see the same look in Ciri who's blue eyes looked at him with both apprehension and pity.

"Don't worry, the old man, can bark all he wants, but he'll come around."

"I hope so," Jaskier said. "I'm supposed to be the barker here."

Eskel laughed. "Oh, I think this will be an entertaining winter."

.

"Why are you so against him being here?" Geralt argued. "This is the safest place for him from Nilfgaard and he's harmless."

"Is he?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Why would a harmless human follow a witcher over two decades?"

"Because he's my friend! Because he-" and Geralt couldn't voice in a fight what he hardly voiced to himself.

"Oh," Vesemir said, softening. "You have to be careful. Loving a human, it's dangerous. There's peril in giving your heart to a mortal."

Geralt breathed troubled. Jaskier's mortality fed every single one of his fears. "He's worth it."

"I hope you remember that, when the time comes. Alright, then, boy," Vesemir said standing up. "Let me give them a warmer welcome then."

.

"Sing us that song," Vesemir said after dinner. "I want to hear the original. It did make things somewhat easier on the Path."

Jaskier blinked for a few seconds, before rushing to grab off his lute from a corner. "Of course, I could never say no to an eager public!"

He knew that this was Vesemir's way of apologizing for his cold receiving. Fucking witchers, never direct with their words.

He ended up singing several songs, both Eskel and Ciri asked for a few. It made him feel at peace, like he had found a place to belong to. He, a mortal human bard, belonged with a powerful princess and a pack of wolves. But the most important person, Geralt who stayed at a side, his eyes never leaving him. And although he grunted with most requests, and mumbled "it didn't happen that way," he had his lips curved up.

When Ciri almost fell asleep on Geralt's lap they decided that it was enough, and went to their rooms. Geralt took the sleeping princess in his arms and carried her to the room that Eskel had prepared on the floor above Geralt that was warmer. Once she was tucked in bed, Geralt indicated Jaskier to go back down with him.

"You can use that room next to mine," Geralt said, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

"I'm sensing there's an option," Jaskier continued. There was tension between them, and they both knew they were going to face it now.

"You could share my room. With me."

"I guessed that was you meant with you with the word sharing," Jaskier teased him. "Is your room warmer?"

It was not an out what Jaskier was offering. It was the opposite. It was Geralt's chance to admit what they had.

"No."

Jaskier took a step closer to Geralt.

"Then why?"

Geralt took another step. Their chests mere inches apart.

"I want you with me."

Jaskier exhaled, and the air brushed Geralt's face.

"I'd love to share with you."

"Good," Geralt said before closing the distance and kissing Jaskier.

Jaskier moaned into Geralt's mouth as he threw his arms around his neck. He had wanted this for so long, too long. Kissing Geralt felt as if everything in his life had slotted into place, as long as he could keep kissing Geralt. It was wet, it was addictive, it was passionate, it was loving.

He moved away and panted into Geralt's cheek. "Take me to bed. Please, take me to bed," he begged, barely holding at the seams with desire.

Geralt groaned and kissed him again. He scooped him up, his legs around his waist and their erections together. Jaskier could feel perfectly how affected by the proceedings Geralt was. He opened the door with one hand and carried Jaskier to the bed where he let him down softly, kissing him all the time.

Gods, but his bard was truly talented with his mouth.

"Jaskier," Geralt breathed above him as he used one hand to hold himself, and the other to caress Jaskier's side.

"What, my beautiful witcher?" Jasker asked caressing his face, now he was finally allowed to touch it.

"Jaskier," Geralt repeated, even more out of breath at Jaskier's kind words.

"Me too, me too," Jaskier agreed brokenly as Geralt slided a hand under his back and lifted to push him against him. The contact was overwhelming even with all the clothes in between. He then pushed at Geralt's shirt with frustrated fingers. "Please, take this off, you big stunning oaf."

Geralt snorted into his neck, but it might have also been a cry.

He moved backwards and took out his shirt with one movement, his medallion sliding through the sweaty meat of his chest. Jaskier's hands were on him instantly, his eyes big and black with desire. Geralt went back to kiss him and tried to pull his doublet off, but Jaskier wouldn't stop touching him.

"Jaskier," he said frustrated.

"What?"

"Let me-" he said tugging at the clothes.

"Later, I'm busy," Jaskier said like a brat as he kept touching every scar, every shifting muscle.

"Don't say I didn't try," Geralt whispered dangerously into his ear, before he pulled from the doublet and the chemise tearing them into pieces.

Jaskier froze.

"What the fuck? What the fuck?" Jaskier breathed out. "Why the fuck do I find that so hot? Fuck, you're gonna be in so much trouble once my mind isn't iddled by lust, you lascivious menace of a brute."

Geralt smirked in response, before worrying a nipple between his teeth.

Jaskier cursed out loud.

After a small eternity of Geralt sucking hickeys and bruises into a trembling Jaskier, he finally removed both their pants and underwear. Jaskier's hands tightened around him, embracing him, making sure their bodies aligned tightly as they moved against one another in one sinuous dance.

"I brought oil," Geralt said after a long while, his voice already hoarse, completely overwhelmed by having Jaskier in his arms.

"Please," Jaskier begged, even if he didn't say what. "Please, please, please."

"What do you want?" Geralt said with another kiss.

"You, I want you."

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that."

"Fuck me," Jaskier commanded, all teasing forgotten. "Fuck me until I can only say your name. Fuck me until I forget every stone we had in our path. Fuck me until you're all I can feel because you're all I want."

"Fuck," Geralt exclaimed against Jaskier's neck, a tear falling down. "As you wish."

"Please," he begged once again, a continuous contrast of contradictions that drove Geralt mad with want and love.

He poured oil on his fingers, uncaring if it fell on the sheets he'd have to hand-wash himself the next day, and rubbed them together to spread it. He kissed Jaskier, and breathed. This was a simple act, something he had done a hundred times with both women and men alike, but as the pad of his finger caressed the puckered rim, it felt monumental. It reminded him of his first time, his fingers trembling between the folds of a whore, nervous and excited. But this was so much more than just the physical act. Blue eyes locked into him, and his fears evaporated as water on a rock under the heat of a bright sky. He entered him with just one finger, Jaskier sucked a breath, Geralt exhaled and they didn't move their eyes from one another.

Just one finger, and he was inside that beautiful body. He moved slowly savoring the moment. Only after some time, he added a second finger. Jaskier gasped this time, breaking eye contact as he threw his head back, his fingers tightening on Geralt's shoulders. Meanwhile, Geralt took the occasion to look at his fingers moving in and out of his bard's body. Unbelieving that soon, that would be his cock. A wave of lust crashed on his guts, so he went searching for Jaskier's prostate, wanting him to feel it too.

"Oh, fuck, Geralt, fuck," he cried when he found it.

Geralt smirked, but then he immediately felt thirsty for Jaskier's little rasps and needed to swallow them down with a kiss. As he kept hitting Jaskier's prostate relentlessly. Until eventually, Jaskier had enough.

"I'm ready, please, I'm ready," he panted breaking the kiss.

"You'll be too tight."

"I want to feel it, please."

"Alright, alright," because Geralt was no longer capable of denying anything to his troubadour.

He poured oil on his palm and with a hiss he spread it on his cock.

"Are you sure?" he asked, resting the tip at Jaskier's entrance.

"Yes, my love, I am."

"Fuck," and he pushed forward.

Slowly, oh so slowly to give time for Jaskier to adjust but also because Geralt felt like he might lose it.

"Say it again," Geralt asked when he was halfway in.

"What? My love?"

Geralt whined, dropping his head onto Jaskier's shoulder.

"You are. You are my love. My most wonderful love," Jaskier said stroking Geralt's hair, only momentarily tangling his fingers in it when Geralt kept moving.

When he bottomed up, Geralt raised his head, needing to look at Jaskier to see him. "I love you. I love you so much."

A tear fell from Jaskier's eye. "Geralt," he whispered in awe, in joy.

"So much," he repeated as he begun moving.

Jaskier cried out, overwhelmed already. "My witcher, my love, _fuck_ , my beloved. I wanted you for so long. I can't- I can't remember what it's like to not want you to not love you. _Fuck_ , right there, please, right there. My love for you is an intrinsic part of who I am already. Don't let ever be parted from me, please. Please. _Please_. I love you so much."

Geralt kissed him, breathing hard through his nose, trying to calm himself down but the strong scent of sex having the opposite effect. His stomach quivered with the effort to hold out as he kept moving inside of Jaskier. What had begun slow already escalating.

"How can you- keep talking?" Geralt laughed exasperated and fond.

"You are my muse, always. You are my beloved muse and you keep inspiring me even as- _fuck_ , even as you fuck me so good. Fuck, fuck. You are my beloved and you're fucking me so well. So lovingly. Fuck!"

A particular strong and precise thrust rendered Jaskier incoherent. Curses and praises spilling forward on equal measure from his lips along unabashed moans. While Geralt growled, Jaskier's voice on his ears driving him crazy.

He was getting close, but, "I want-"

"What do you want, my love?"

Geralt growled. That endearment was his undoing. "Ride me."

Jaskier keened. "Yes, yes."

With a show of strength, that was totally on purpose, Geralt grabbed Jaskier by his waist and turn them around.

"You fucker," Jaskier said panting, and incredibly aroused. "You strong egotistical fucker."

Geralt smirked and pushed his hips upwards, almost throwing Jaskier off, who had to rapidly throw his weight onto his hands at each side of Geralt's head.

"See if instead I don't ride Roach out of here."

"You won't be going anywhere with _this_ ," Geralt said grabbing Jaskier's erection.

"Okay, okay, you have a point," Jaskier panted as he moved his hips up, and brought them down abruptly. "Fuck," he moaned.

He tore moans out of himself each time he impaled himself on Geralt's cock. Meanwhile his hands were everywhere, his stomach, his back, his thighs. Jaskier let his head fall and looked at his Witcher. Geralt was watching him with awe, he realized this was why Geralt wanted him to ride him. He wanted to look at him. He wanted to see, how he, mere mortal bard fucked himself on his cock.

Jaskier felt beautiful and treasured.

He felt close. "My love, I'm not gonna last."

"Then don't," Geralt said, grabbing his cock and stroking him.

Jaskier whined and a few minutes later, he was coming all over Geralt's hand and stomach. He shouted, once again the word love spilled from his lips and in turn Geralt came inside him.

For some blessed minutes, only their breaths could be heard in the room. Jaskier had laid down his weight on Geralt, but the witcher wasn't bothered by it, instead he just caressed Jaskier's hair.

"I hope you realize," Jaskier interrupted the silence, "that you're _never_ getting rid of me, ever. You're stuck with me, my love."

Geralt laughed and flicked him on his forehead before kissing him. "You're an idiot. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Despite everything they did, Jaskier blushed. "Good. Even if we get separated or you try to push me away again, I'll find my way back to you."

"I'll never push you again," Geralt promised, solemnly.

"You better, you gigantic idiot."

Geralt kissed him again, because he could, because he wanted. Because he loved him.

.

Jaskier finished his last song with a round of applause.

"Another one!"

"Plays us _Marbles_!"

"I'm afraid my lovely audience, that this is it for tonight," Jaskier said bowing. "It was my pleasure playing for you, and I'll be returning tomorrow night after a fine rest in your beautiful town from the road. Thank so much for allowing me to share my music with you!"

With that, collecting his hat from the floor, heavy with coins and with a bright smile, he hopped off the stage and went to the corner where Geralt had been watching him. After a quick kiss, and stealing some of his ale, even though Geralt had already ordered him his own food and drink, he sat down at the table. Secure in the corner, his smile dropped and he sighed, his demeanor changing completely. Where he had been lively and energetic, now he look nothing short of exhausted. But he still looked at Geralt with bright loving eyes.

"Thank you for the food, my love."

"Hmm."

"I see we're back at grunting, huh?" he said shoving his foot against Geralt. Geralt didn't reply. "You're deep in thought. What is it?"

"Tomorrow you should stay here while I go on the hunt."

"Really, Geralt, we're back at it again? And have you bleed out if the kikimora is more aggressive than we thought? I don't think so. We're going together and that's it. You should know better than keep trying to have this discussion every single week, old man."

"You're an old man."

"Oh, really, Geralt, that's rich. Seriously, you know better insults than this now. You should at least have learned better more colourful words after forty years at my side."

"I mean it," and something in the seriousness of Geralt's tone was enough to stop Jaskier's next words.

"What is it?" he asked.

He wasn't afraid exactly. He had long felt secure on how Geralt cared about him, in part because Geralt took care of telling him he loved him at least once a week, and outside of sex too. The witcher had a few crisis along the way, but they had both been able to work it through. Geralt had even done emotional work on his side, Jaskier and Ciri were very proud of him.

So, no, Jaskier wasn't afraid. But he was nervous, and too tired to deal with this.

"You're almost sixty."

"Shh, an artist has no age, Geralt."

"I mean it," Geralt repeated, caressing between his fingers the grey hair on his lover's head. "I know your back is killing you right now."

"Geralt, I'm tired but I'm fine," Jaskier sighed.

"No, you are not," his voice was soft, his yellow eyes shone.

"What do you want to say?"

"You should write to your cousin, ask him about that house on the coast we stayed that time. I think it's time."

"Geralt," Jaskier warned him, unspilled tears in his eyes.

They hadn't discussed this. They had avoid it, pretended as if Jaskier wasn't aging with each passing year. Without talking about it, they had slowed down. They stayed more time at towns, and less contracts in between. They went early each year to Kaer Morhen, and left even later while Vesemir said nothing about it. They were both stubborn, but not even a strong head could defeat time.

"Geralt," Jaskier repeated, burying his head on Geralt's palm. Needing the touch as much as it broke him. "Don't- we still have a few more years."

"Maybe," Geralt admitted. "But I want you to be fine during those years. I don't like seeing you on pain or uncomfortable. Please, allow me to take care of you," he said, pressing their foreheads together.

"What are you saying?"

"You once asked me when do witchers retire, well, I think it's time for me."

Jaskier moved back abruptly, the tears already sliding through his cheeks. He looked at his wonderful, marvelous witcher who looked at him with love. Who looked at him as if he was precious. He took his head and kissed him deeply and passionate, conveying all of those intense feelings that were beyond the reach of even a poet. The people at the tavern whistled and howled, but he only had senses for the man he loved.

That night, they made gentle love. Geralt rode him slowly, his eyes never leaving his. They were both thinking the same, how many nights and days of this they would have. Their moans would be swallowed by the roar of the sea and their rhythm would be dictated by the waves on the shore.

.

As fate would have it, they never reached the coast.

They were talking about curtains, well, Jaskier was, Geralt was listening.

"My cousin has zero taste, Geralt, zero. Will need to buy new ones in the next town, because I will not spend the rest of my years in a house with turquoise curtains. That's not a color for a beach house. And we can't definitely buy them there, they all have nautical themes or earth colors, and I still haven't steeped so low as to decorate a beach house with nautical themes."

Geralt listened amused, a small smile adorning his lips. This was what awaited him, every single day for the following years. He loved it.

"As you wish."

"Don't think that you'll get away with it, my love. You _will_ have to chose me."

Geralt grunted.

"I swear, I will pry from your lips, what color to-"

A screech interrupted them from above their heads, next there was a shadow over them. Geralt cursed, he should have been able to listen to the wyvern coming. The horses, Roach and Pegasus got spooked and they tried to run away, but they were no match for the wings of a wyvern. Geralt reached for his crossbow and hit the monster with an arrow. It screamed and fell, buying Geralt some time.

He descended from Roach and took his silver sword from her saddles. He turned and looked at Jaskier who was finally regaining control of his horse. He nodded and rode away. The wyvern was recuperating from the shock of the arrow, so Geralt run towards it and set in on fire with some Igni. The creature screeched again in pain while it batted his wings, which Geralt had to avoid with it spikes. He managed to deliver several hits on the wyvern's head before the fire had died out and the creature was flying again. He managed to lunge his sword at the wyvern's stomach as it gained height, blood poured from it, falling on his face and eyes.

Geralt cursed one more and hurriedly cleaned his eyes.

It costed him precious seconds.

A scream, horses neighing.

He turned to follow onto the wyvern and saw that Jaskier was lying on the floor, the monster above him. Blood was blood so with the one on his face he couldn't smell if Jaskier had been hurt. He prayed to Destiny, the only force he now believed in since getting Ciri, that Jaskier might be fine, that they would still make it to the coast.

He run and used the impulse to lunge hard at the wyvern that screeched again, turning to face Geralt. It roared at him trying to intimidate him, but Geralt was desperate and instead he used the opening and managed to slice at its neck. The wyvern's next scream came in gurgles, and it was falling to the ground.

Wasting no time, he rounded the dead body of the monster and went to were Jaskier was still lying. It wasn't good news that he hadn't ran for safety as soon as the creature had left him.

"Geralt," he said in a weak voice.

 _Still alive, still alive,_ was all Geralt couldn't think.

But as he fell into his knees in front of Jaskier all of his relief went away. Blood was pouring from his middle were the creature had clawed him. The cut was deep, and given the dark color that went away with the red blood, it had cut through his guts.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier said.

Geralt's world had vanished, all there was left was the broken body of the man he loved and his panicked eyes.

"Jaskier," Geralt cried, his hands on his face, his shoulders, his stomach in a vain attempt to keep the blood in.

"I'm sorry, I tried to get away but-"

"What? No. No, no," Geralt cried, and what a sight, a man who had killed over a thousand monsters, who had faced kings and mages, kneeling on the floor as he came apart.

"You gotta promise me," and his voice was already too weak. "Don't blame yourself, it wasn't your fault."

"I should've-" Geralt cried.

"Promise me," Jaskier asked panicked, his hand holding tight to his arm.

This wonderful bard, this fantastic man was not afraid of dying Geralt understood, he was afraid of how he would react. How he would carry on. Geralt closed his eyes as a sob rocked through his body. "I promise," he said even as he knew it was a promise he wouldn't be able to keep.

"I love you, I love you so much. Never forget it, never."

Geralt had opened his eyes again, needing to see that blue for as long as he could.

"I love you too," he said and Jaskier smiled, lovingly.

The pressure on Geralt's hand softened as life left Jaskier. This was his last gift towards him, eyes full of love and a smile.

"I love you too," Geralt repeated, but there was no longer a change on Jaskier's expression. "Jaskier!" he screamed, but his senses knew already.

He no longer heard a heartbeat.

He screamed then, the sound of a wounded animal. The creatures of the forest recoiled, from prey to predator, they all felt the pain in that sound. Even the trees seemed to recognize it.

But then the scream died out, and all that was left were the human desperate cries of a broken man who had lost the person he loved. Geralt sobbed cradling Jaskier's dead body, alone at a side of the road heading to the coast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I deserve hell for this, but this work will still have a happy ending. Next and final chapter should be up soon.
> 
> Enjoy the tears meanwhile.


	2. Dandelion

Once the tears ran out, once the sun had set below the horizon and the temperature had dropped, Geralt was vaguely aware of calling for Yennefer through his Xenovox. He knew a portal had opened and that she was there, but she was gone from his perception. Ciri was suddenly there too, speaking softly to him even as tears ran through her cheeks. She coaxed him up, while Yennefer took care of Jaskier's body.

"Where do you want to do it?" the sorceress asked, a compassionate voice.

"Home," he managed to say. There was only once place that qualified as that. The house at the coast was not it, had never managed to be. Instead there was the one place, the only one he had ever known even if cold surrounded him at the thought. Ciri's soft hands carried him through the portal.

He didn't want to face Vesemir, to have him tell him I told you so for loving a mortal. But Vesemir said nothing, and instead took him away from Ciri's hand and took him to the bath, where he helped him wash away the blood and bathed him as if he was still a kid from before the Trials.

He was then giving clean clothes to wear, which he put automatically.

"I'm sorry, Wolf," Vesemir said.

Geralt looked at his father figure and nodded.

He was taken outside where Yennefer and Ciri had prepared the pyre. Jaskier's body laid over it enveloped in a white blanket. Geralt was suddenly gripped with panic, when they burned the body that would be it. No going back. His bard would be completely gone from the face of the Earth. He froze in a way he hadn't done since he was a kid and it had been trained out of him by force.

"Focus on my voice. Breath in, breath out. That's it," Vesemir voice got to him slowly.

As he came back to himself, he grabbed Vesemir's hand, the one the old witcher had put on his chest to help him breath. The grip was too strong, even for a witcher, but Vesemir said nothing. Knowing that Geralt needed the anchor.

"Whenever you're ready," Yennefer said softly.

Geralt nodded.

The sorceress whispered, and the pyre set aflame. The heat of the fire did not reach him. The last warm thing he had felt was the scorching hot feeling of Jaskier's blood slipping through his fingers. Now, only coldness awaited him.

.

But here's the thing about loss.

You get used to it.

There's not a single day when you don't feel the gap in your chest, but you learn to live with it. The pain doesn't leave, but you learn to tolerate it. And he was a witcher, tolerating pain was how he was created. So he got used to the ache every time he saw a yellow flower. He got use to that flair when a qip came to his lips and he turned around to no one to share it. He got used to the tug in his heart whenever he heard one of his songs.

And it's not like he was alone. He still had his brothers, and Vesemir. He had Yennefer who had become an invaluable friend. He suspected he had put a spell on him. The sorceress always appearing whenever he thought of doing something stupid. He had Ciri, his daughter. He had to keep on living for her. He learned how to smile again for her. After all, she had also lost a father. She kept Jaskier's lute. It would get ruined with him on the Road and she would keep it safe. Whenever he went to visit her at her Palace, she played it for him, and the sound of a lute wasn't so terrible when it came from her hands. Jaskier would be proud.

And so time passed. A year turned into five, turned into a decade, turned into two decades.

Two decades without Jaskier at his side.

He missed him dearly and thought of him every day.

He had finished hunting a nest of drowners. Easy monsters, only dangerous in its numbers. He entered the inn, focusing only on delivering the hands to the major as proof. The man was at the tavern enjoying the entertainment.

"It's done," Geralt said depositing the bag of the drowners' hands at the feet of the major.

"How many?" the major asked, frightened at the sight of him looming over him and disgusted at the monsters' rests.

"Nine."

"Ugh, nasty buggers. Here, have some extra coin for the inconvenience," the major said adding some coins to the pouch he had already prepared.

Geralt hummed, into what he hoped was a thankful enough tone. People who appreciated his work, even when afraid of him, weren't even nearly enough. He just wanted to go to a corner, order some bowl of stew and a pint of ale and then rest.

"Witcher!" the entertainment of the tavern shouted and a shiver ran through Geralt's back. "What a coincidence! Please, stay, I was just singing in your honor. What do you say if we turn to a classic."

Geralt turned around slowly, his blood running cold through his veins. He was met with a bright smile and blue eyes. Geralt was frozen in his place, unable to do nothing but stare.

He didn't hear the people on the room cheer, but something alike must have happened for the bard vowed slightly. His fingers trailing over softly over his lute. A lute, for Melitele's sake.

"Marvelous!" the bard said, and he kept smiling. That smile.

The bard focused his eyes on him again, and begun singing.

" _Toss a coin to your witcher…_ "

His voice. A voice he thought he would never hear again, a voice he shouldn't be hearing again by any standards. Geralt wanted to run. He wanted to fall to his knees and cry. Instead, as soon as he regained enough brain power, he went to an empty table in the corner, his eyes barely leaving the bard. He had seen Jaskier play that song a thousand times, he knew how it could vary. What words he tended to stretch, when he usually regaled winks and smiles to the audience, when he encouraged them to sing alone. And as he watched this bard play that already looked so similar to him, Geralt could have sworn it was Jaskier. There were minutiae differences, so small that they were practically insignificant.

He had a thin moustache and a soulpatch that looked delicate on his face. His hair was longer than Jaskier had ever carried it, but it was the exact same shade of brown that Jaskier had had before he had started going white, under that ridiculous purple hat he had. And the spark of mischief in his eyes was slightly meaner. But otherwise, Geralt could have sworn he was once again in yet another tavern with his friend and lover playing after a hunt.

The bard kept playing several songs, and Geralt kept thinking about leaving, about running away. But he couldn't. He couldn't afford to lose this man out of sight, because ridiculous as he was, a part of him had hope.

Then, the man bowed and thanked his public and blue eyes were staring at him again as he got closer. Geralt was briefly in a different tavern, sixty years ago. But the illusion broke when the man in purple sat in front of him, and he was back at the present, no Jaskier but a man that looked exactly like him. And talked as much as him.

"Pardon me, Master Witcher, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to greet you. I hope you have enjoyed my performance and that it might bring you plenty of coin. It was a honour to play these songs directly to the man who has inspired, as you're Geralt of Rivia, aren't you?"

Geralt scowled.

"Oh, marvelous!" the bard said with bouncing energy, but then deflated upon finally noticing Geralt's frown. "Oh, have I been insensitive by playing Master Jaskier's songs? Not only by the stories, but specially by his songs I can tell he was very close to you. I do hope I have not offended you, or soured your evening with them. You must be probably used to keep hearing them, they're very popular and beloved songs, but the heart must no care about that. I do hope I have not brought you pain," the bard rambled.

Geralt grunted. "It was fine."

He got up to leave not looking anymore at the bard, his heart unable to keep up anymore, bleeding at the seams. He ignored the bard calling after him and went for Roach, needing to get out of here, sleep on the woods, away from blue eyes and lutes.

He heard the steps trailing after him.

"Wait!" he said before Geralt could climb onto Roach. "Wait! Before you leave I'd like to request you, well, offer you, well, propose you- You see it's really a shame that the songs of you have stopped after Master Jaskier has passed away. I do believe you're a remarkable man, Geralt of Rivia, and you still deserve a barker to keep telling the stories of your marvelous life."

"My life is not marvelous, bard."

"Incredible at the very least."

"Why?"

"Not only for the monsters you kill, but all the people you m-"

"Why do you want to come with me, bard?" Geralt interrupted him abruptly.

"I've told you. The stories there must be waiting to-"

"The real reason."

"Because-" the bard looked at him, those blue eyes evaluating him, until he came to a decision. "Oh, fuck it. You're lonely, Geralt, I can see that. And though I am no way offering to replace him, I am not that insensitive, I am offering my companionship. You need a friend, and to be candid, so do I."

Geralt knew he should get on Roach. He should leave this mirage behind and move on, quash any hope in his heart. But he was weak and tired after so many years.

"What's your name, bard?"

"Dandelion."

Geralt glared at him and Dandelion had the decency to blush.

"I did get inspiration from him. I've been a lonely kid and his songs were a source of comfort. They made me feel that I too could find such a companionship as he had."

"I'm not the hero from the songs."

Dandelion smiled. "I know. I am a composer too, I do know how to read between the lines."

.

He could have stayed at the inn, specially after his original purpose, avoiding the bard was nulled by him accepting to have him as a traveling companion. But he didn't want to go back on his word, to give any inkling of suspicion that he had been trying to avoid him. But also, he wanted to test him, to see if this young man with his bright clothes and stupid feathered hat could actually withstand the wilderness. And he was curious, he wanted to know this man in a terrain that was familiar to him. The fabricated atmosphere of an inn, with all the social interactions and the people's murmurs was not it.

In here, as they stopped for the night some miles away from the town, they were alone, Geralt didn't have to worry about other humans save for the enigma standing in front of him.

"Is there a particular reason we will be sleeping here instead in the lovely town we just left? Do you have a particular monster to fight?" Dandelion asked.

Geralt hummed.

"I see, I see, so what do we do now?"

"Set up camp."

"I see," Dandelion said setting the lute aside, so he could gather some firewood. Geralt looked at him and carefully inhaled, sensing every fragrance and odor in the air. He set apart those smells from the forest, and focused on the ones coming from Dandelion. His smell was similar to Jaskier's. There was the lute oil, and even the same lavender oil, though it was accompanied by a spice that was new. Underneath that he smelled of exciment, even some nervousness as he set the fire. Though the most important thing, no fear. This man was alone in the woods with a Witcher he had only met for a few hours, and he was not afraid.

That above all, floored Geralt.

This was, more than his uncanny looks, the most striking resemblance to his Jaskier.

His heart fluttered with hope despite all warning to say he shouldn't give in, he would only get his heart broken.

"What is it?" Dandelion asked, and he was blushing. Geralt realized he had been staring for far too long. "I do know how to make a fire. I have been traveling on my own for two years now."

Melitele, he was young.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

Fuck.

.

It was easy to travel with Dandelion. Several weeks have passed and Dandelion had slid smoothly into Geralt's routine, the same way it hadn't been hard for Geralt to accommodate once more his rhythm to match a human's. The constant chatter, the sound of the lute were a welcome addition into his life after the twenty years of silence and loneliness. He had to catch himself, specially the first weeks to not call him Jaskier, but as time passed, the differences were more obvious and it was easier to see him as his own person.

But even as little by little he had went in his head from Jaskier's doppelganger to Dandelion. Geralt still thought of Jaskier in every interaction. He didn't know what this was. If it was a curse to break whatever remains of his heart were left or if it was a blessing to mend it. But either way, he vowed he would not waste time. He wouldn't let twenty-two years pass before he admitted he enjoyed Dandelion's company, that he liked him and he was already a friend in these weeks together. This time he would do things right. And though he teased the bard, his rebuttals were fun, he also made sure to smile more, and when he asked for a place to spend the night, it was always:

"A room for me and my friend."

He didn't know if Dandelion understood the full meaning of it. But if it was true that he could read between the lines, and if the way he looked at him meant something, then he caught it. Or so Geralt liked to think.

This particular day, they had arrived late at the inn. The were barely any patrons left so Dandelion wouldn't play this time. So they headed directly to their rooms. Geralt started taking his armor, swords close to the bed on the side closest to the door. He was removing his shoulder pieces when he realized Dandelion had barely moved since entering the room. He turned and looked back at him.

"What?"

Dandelion was looking at him with a soft smile. Geralt tensed.

"What?"

Dandelion walked towards him, and laid a hand on his chest.

Geralt caught his wrist, a warning. Yet, he didn't remove his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he smirked.

"No," Geralt said fastly. "I mean, it is. But no."

"Why not?" Dandelion asked softly and Geralt could feel his breath on his face. When he had moved so close. He inhaled, his scent hit him. The smell was familiar, and no less with lust in it.

"Because-" Geralt tried, distracted by his own want. "Because-" and their lips were brushing together. He opened his eyes, and saw blue staring back at him. He stepped back. "Because you deserve better."

"I thought you have learned better than that by now, witcher?" Dandelion said, his tone mocking yet still unbearably soft. Geralt had dropped his hands, so now Dandelion was covering his cheek with it.

"I did," Geralt confessed, closing his eyes, basking for just one moment in the warmth of that hand. "But you still deserve better than have me thinking of him while I fuck you."

Dandelion dropped his hand and Geralt already missed its warmth.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

Geralt looked at him. He expected disgust or anger, instead he found understanding.

"I did, and it wouldn't be fair to you. You deserve someone who wants to be with you because of you. I- I don't think I can be that person."

"I must confess something," Dandelion said looking down. "You're being honest with me, so you should know. I began traveling with you because I had a crush on you ever since I first heard the White Wolf songs."

"I'm not like the one in the songs," Geralt said, his voice steeling up.

"I know," Dandelion said again softly. "I told you I know how to read between the lines. I always wanted to know the witcher who had made a bard fall in love with him. I could tell how much he loved you. And I- I want to know you, I do. I want to know the real you, the one that lives outside the songs."

They looked at each other, and Geralt wanted. Oh, how much he wanted. He had been lonely for so long. But it wouldn't be fair on any of them, they both knew that. So he took a step forward, and put his arms around Dandelion, hugging him and burying his head in his shoulder.

"I'd love to get to know you too," Geralt said, and he smelled him and concentrated on all the differences. "I won't run from this, not this time."

"That's good," Dandelion said smiling into his neck.

That night, as they shared a bed as they had been doing already, they slept next to each other. Their legs tangled and Dandelion's breath on his chest.

.

They still traveled together after that, with little change to their dynamic. Dandelion still talked too much, threw sassy comebacks to Geralt's comments and Geralt pretended to grunt at them. The main difference was that now hands stayed a few seconds too long on each other's body. When Dandelion cleaned a wound his hands lingered a bit more than necessary and he held his words more. Meanwhile, Geralt's hands stayed a bit longer on his back as he guided Dandelion through a dangerous crow, his growl loud enough for everyone to hear.

At night, even the times they tried to pretend, they tried to keep their distance, they ended up straying to one another. Until they could feel the other's breath and could fall asleep to the candace of their hearts. Geralt knew it was dangerous territory from experience. But he couldn't stop himself, he promised he wouldn't run away this time. He wouldn't waste time, he would see where this led them even if it broke his heart again.

Weeks turned into months, and then it was fall, winter but a few weeks away.

"The road to Kaer Morhen will become difficult soon," Geralt said.

Dandelion looked at him and stopped playing the lute. "It's that your way of saying you'd like me to go with you?"

"I- yeah," Geralt admitted.

"Why?"

Geralt sighed. This man didn't let him get away with anything. "I don't want to let go of you so soon. I-"

"You're afraid you won't see me again in spring? Silly witcher, as if I wouldn't chase you down myself."

Dandelion put a hand on his knees as he rode on Roach. It burned him.

"I'd be afraid you were a dream," Geralt said putting his hand over Dandelion's.

"We might still make a poet out of you, my dear."

It pulled a small smile out of Geralt.

"I'd go with you if you want to. But first, you must tell me everything. There's something else, isn't it?"

"When I first was ready to confront what I felt for Jaskier, I took him there. That's where we- I want to know how it feels to have you in my home."

Dandelion took his hand from Geralt's knee, back towards his lute.

"I suppose it's something we both have to find out," Dandelion said, pulling a few notes from his lute. "Just, Geralt?"

"Hmm."

"Promise you'll be honest be me. I don't want to be a mirage of a dead person."

"I promise."

.

They arrived early. Geralt didn't want to expose Dandelion to the harshness of the winter roads, specially on the Blue Mountains. Neither he wanted to expose him to all the witchers at once. Better to arrive when the only one there was Vesemir.

But even if he was going to present Dandelion to just the one witcher, Geralt was nervous. Perhaps, because it was Vesemir, and whatever the old witcher had to say, could potentially destroy or strengthen Geralt. Dandelion picked up on it, and was more quiet than usual. Though perhaps that might also be the climb up the mountains.

"Geralt, you're earlier!" came Vesemir's voice as they were doubling into the keep's entrance. "Who did you bring with you this time, Wolf?"

He had a pleasant smile on his face that fell as soon as he met the bard.

"Hi! I know what you must be thinking and I know that according to what Geralt's has told me I look incredibly similar to a certain someone, not only in appearance but also the unfortunate tendency to go verborrose when nervous. But I must assure you, I am an ordinary human that shares a fascination with the same witcher and a prodigy talent with the lute. But I am still no more than an ordinary human who has met with our dear Geralt by chance upon an equally ordinary tavern."

There seemed to be no end to Dandelion's words.

"What have you done?" asked Vesemir to Geralt with horror in his voice.

"He has done nothing! I assure you I am an ordinary human. My name's Dandelion, born twenty years ago into a noble family of assholes. Though monsters in behavior, my family was definitely human."

"Geralt," Vesemir growled.

"Am I not being heard?"

"I heard you boy, and I believe you, but Geralt's the one that has to answer," Vesemir said with a stern look towards the witcher.

"I found him in a tavern, three months ago. He was singing his songs and he then approached me. He is human."

"You've still got yourself into something, Wolf."

"Maybe."

"Let's get him to the kitchen where he can eat something and you and I will talk alone," Vesemir instructed turning around with a frown in his face.

Dandelion looked at Geralt. "Are you sure it was the wisest idea for me to come here? Seems to me you're in trouble."

"I'm glad you're here," Geralt admitted, voice low even though he knew Vesemir could hear him anyway.

"You better be, I am tired and I am not going back into that rocky path until my feet have rested for at least _a week_ ," Dandelion complained.

Neither of them could see it, but Vesemir had to fight a small smile from breaking into his lips.

.

"You are in trouble," Vesemir sentenced once they were alone at the Library. Once again, as all those years ago. "Did you seriously not do something to have him back?"

"I didn't, Vesemir," Geralt sighed. "I had long accepted what has happened. Finding him was a surprise. But once I did, I couldn't let go."

"Is it him?"

"He is his own person, but…"

"But you know this can't be a coincidence, he's too similar. You don't run into people like your bard twice in your life."

"I know."

Of course he knew it. This was nothing sort of a miracle. Miracles did not happen to Witchers. But he had lived with Jaskier forty years at his side. Had raised a daughter together. He had three wonderful, if consusing, three months with Dandelion. Geralt was the most fortunate of witchers it seemed.

"He was born around when he died, wasn't he?"

"He was."

Vesemir nodded.

"If you go through this a second time, you might break beyond repair."

"I know," Geralt said, it terrified him. Falling once more for a human, knowing how easily he could lose him and how he had barely survived the last time. "But he wouldn't like me to turn back on a second chance at being happy."

"Do you love him?" Vesemir asked, his eyes were kind if hard.

"I don't- maybe."

"Because he looks like him?"

"No!" Geralt rushed to say. "I- he _is_ similar, but he's also intriguing and fascinating in his own way."

Vesemir hummed. "Be careful, Wolf."

.

They were standing in front of the room of Geralt's door. Like he had been years ago.

"You can share with me, if you want to," Geralt asked, straining to look at Dandelion in the eyes instead of diverting to look at the floor as he wanted to.

"Geralt, why?" and there were tears in Dandelion's eyes. "Why did you brought me here? It's here where you and him-"

"Yes," Geralt confessed, and took a step forward, burying a hand in Dandelion's hair, dislodging that ridiculous hat of him. "But that's not why. I- I want to kiss you, and hold you. And whenever I can't-" Geralt's voice broke as he smelled him, their breaths tangling together as their foreheads touched. "Whenever I had to hold back from kissing you, from touching you as I want to, it's not him I picture. It's you, _you_."

"Geralt," Dandelion cried.

"Dandelion," Geralt whispered and how could one voice hold so much want.

"Say my name again."

"Dandelion," Geralt repeated, his hand tightening in his hair making the hat fall.

"Tell me."

"I want _you_. I want to learn everything there is to learn about you. I want to learn every secret, what makes you sigh and what makes you shout. I want _you_ , my Dandelion."

"Fuck," Dandelion said and closed the distance between them.

When they kissed, when their lips and tongues connected, it was like something that was missing got back into his life for Geralt. He realized he was undoubtedly falling in love with this beautiful and ridiculous new man. He realized he wanted this, he wanted to know love again, and he wanted to get to know love with Dandelion.

"I want you too," Dandelion said between kisses as he explored Geralt's jaw. "I want you so much."

"Me?" Geralt teased. "Not the Geralt from the songs?"

"Fuck the one from the songs," Dandelion growled as he tried to get Geralt to kiss him again.

"I thought you wanted to fuck _me_ ," Geralt mocked him.

"He _jokes_. The asshole _jokes_ , I'll give you a reason to laugh, you asshole."

"Your quip dulls when you get horny, doesn't it?"

"I- alright, you better hope that behind that door that's actually your room because I am fucking you in whatever mattress I find there wether is yours or not."

Geralt silenced him with a kiss and blindly reached for the handle of the door, while Dandelion pushed him against it. They stumbled through it, Dandelion closing the door with a well-practiced kick. Geralt rushed to unbutton Dandelion's doublet, to finally get rid of it, but as they were standing in the middle of the bedroom, Dandelion kissed him, softly, slowly. Until Geralt couldn't help but comply.

He then started undressing him slowly, kissing every inch of skin that appeared, every scar. When Geralt's hand went back to Dandelion's doublet they were softer. He caressed and kissed as much as he could. Enjoyed the feel of his hands across his chest hair and the moans that he got as he pinched his nipples.

Dandelion kneeled to get rid of Geralt's boots and pants. He kissed his groin, but not his cock. It was a reverent act, how he divested him of each boot, how he pulled softly with his hands the pants down. When it was Geralt's turn, he made sure to put the same amount of devotion, but unlike his dear bard, he did kiss the cock in front of him. Kissed it, licked it and swallowed it down with a hum.

"Fuck, Geralt, you bastard," Dandelion exclaimed as his hands tangled into Geralt's hair, holding on. "Look at you with your lips around my cock, you were made to suck cock, weren't you?"

Geralt moaned, knowing Dandelion would feel the vibrations. He smirked when he heard him curse and double over him. He bowed his head several times, before moving back with a popping sound and giving the head one final lick.

"I think you promised me to fuck me into the mattress," Geralt said.

Dandelion said nothing, instead pulled Geralt up by his hold on his hair, to give him a filthy kiss. This time it was Geralt the one who slowed it down, made it deep, to be felt. Tongue against tongue, making sure Dandelion could taste every trace of himself on Geralt. He then nipped at his bottom lip and let him go, a glint in his yellow eyes. He turned, fumbled on the nightstand and took the bottle of oil. Sending a sly look to Dandelion, he turned to lay on the bed, a leg raised up. It was supposed to be an enticing look, to set the mood, of course, Dandelion had to ruin it.

"Please tell me this isn't the same oil you had been using with him."

"What? No!" Geralt blushed, "I've been using this- myself."

"Oh, _oh_ ," Dandelion said climbing to the bed. "Can you show me then? Please, show me how you use that oil on yourself. Let me see."

Geralt pushed him forwards, to crush his mouth on a kiss, both to silence him and quell his nerves. By the time he and Jaskier had gone to bed, they both knew each other's bodies, countless baths and stitching wounds together. But that was still not an ordinary thing with Dandelion, they relationship was still blooming. The confidence he had felt earlier had left him. But Dandelion kissed his lips softly once and then smiled at him, and Geralt felt sure again.

He oiled his fingers and then, not stopping looking once at those blue eyes, a connection he thought he would never feel again. He moaned and resisted closing his eyes when the first finger breached him. He hadn't done this since the last winter. The moan he released when he added the second finger turned into a shout when Dandelion started lightly pumping his dick as he watched him. Soft fingers traced his balls as his own fingers went in and out.

"You're perfect," Dandelion whisper in awe.

"Dandelion," Geralt begged.

"One more, sweetheart, one more finger and I'll fuck you good and deep. That's it," Dandelion encouraged him.

Geralt obeyed him, even as his leg trembled. He felt so full already. He moaned out loud constantly, he was probably begging to Dandelion, but he was too lost in sensation already to care about it. Only the feel of his hand on his wrist stopped him.

He took out his hand and opened his eyes again.

Blue and yellow stared at one another.

They kissed.

Dandelion pushed.

Geralt grunted, throwing his head back, as Dandelion cursed. But then, Dandelion's hand was on Geralt's head dragging him up for a kiss. Geralt returned it, grabbing his head and keeping their foreheads together even as they broke the kiss. Breathing one another in as Dandelion moved in him.

"Dandelion," Geralt said.

"Yes."

"Dandelion."

"What?"

"Dandelion," Geralt repeated. "Right there," he squirmed as Dandelion hit the right spot.

Geralt grabbed himself to the headboard with one hand, while the other stayed on Dandelion's hair. They gave each other open-mouthed kisses, that could barely could be called kisses, but it was more about the sentiment than anything else.

And when they didn't kiss, Dandelion would say praises as Geralt groaned.

"I'm close, I won't be able to hold out for much longer, please, tell me you're close," Dandelion whispered as he hid his head on Geralt's sweaty neck.

"I am," Geralt said removing his hands from Dandelion's head and moving it to his cock.

"Yes, that's it touch yourself for me, that's it."

"Dandelion," Geralt groaned.

"Touch yourself for me," Dandelion told him, emphasizing his words with a powerful thrust.

"Dandelion!"

"Yes."

"Look at me, please," Geralt begged. "Wanna look at you when I-"

Dandelion raised his head. Their eyes connected and with one last thrust they were both coming. A groan falling from Dandelion's lips onto Geralt's where it transformed into a shout.

The bard collapsed onto his chest, as they recovered their breaths. After a while, Geralt moved him so he could feel the roughness of his mustache against his lips, and so he could look once more at sleepy blue eyes. Dandelion smiled at him and Geralt knew he was already falling for him hard.

.

"Geralt! You have a ghost!" Lambert had shouted when he arrived at the keep a few weeks afterwards and first saw Dandelion.

.

When spring came, Geralt took Dandelion south, they were going to Nilfgaard, planning on arriving before winter of the following year, to spend the season with Ciri who had been empress for the last decades. They sat early, as they were going to stop in as many inns as possible. To fuck on actual mattresses and so Dandelion could sing and play. It would also mean more contracts. So the journey south would be a slow one.

But eventually they arrived, and as they waited to be escorted at the castle's door, they heard a shout.

"Dad!" Ciri's voice came.

At fifty-two Ciri resembled her grandmother a lot, both in appearance and fierceness. But unlike her grandmother, having to run through the continent had taught her much about injustice, inequality and oppression. So her rule was kinder, seeking to heal instead of to seize. She was a beloved empress, but as she ran to meet Geralt she looked as that kid that ran through the forest.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw Dandelion.

"Papa?" and there were tears in her eyes.

Geralt stepped forward, holding her cheek. "I know what it seems, but it's not him."

Ciri looked at him, and Geralt hated the sadness in her eyes. "What have you done?"

"Do all the people in your life have so little faith in you, Geralt?" Dandelion asked him.

Ciri looked at Dandelion again. "He sounds like him."

"I know," Geralt smiled, "that surprised me too."

"Master Dandelion, at your service," the bard said with a bow.

"Fuck, and he's a bard too?" Ciri asked him when she saw the lute on his back.

"He is, sadly."

"Hey!"

Geralt smirked at him and Ciri gasped.

"You're together."

Geralt turned back to Ciri, eyes wide.

"Don't- I'm glad for you. You deserve happiness again after losing Papa. I'm not even surprise that you chose another bard. I'm just- well, he does look exactly like him."

"And talks as much as him," Geralt groaned.

"Keep going at it, and I'll ditch you for Eskel, old man."

Ciri laughed. "Pleasure to meet you, Dandelion."

They went inside and had dinner together. They chatted and laughed. Afterwards, Ciri brought back Jaskier's lute. She played a few songs he had taught her, her way of remembering him and honoring her father. It had always brought tears to Geralt's eyes and broken his heart with longing and pain, but this time, as he held Dandelion's eyes, the tears didn't hurt. He was nostalgic, and he missed him, but he was whole now.

"That's a beautiful song, dear, and you have a beautiful voice," Dandelion said as Ciri smiled at him. "That's a marvellous instrument, can I see it?"

Ciri nodded, and Dandelion reached his hand. He grabbed it by the neck and had to close his eyes.

Memories flooded his mind. Flashes. Campfires, adventures. He remembered watching Ciri grow. He remembered meeting Geralt while fighting elves, he remembered about dragons and wishes.

He gasped and let go of the lute.

"Are you okay?" Geralt asked worried, his hands on him to hold him.

"I- I was him," Dandelion said looking at Geralt with awe.

The memories were gone already. But Dandelion had the certainty.

"I was Jaskier," Dandelion said.

Geralt looked at him with a set of fresh tears in his eyes. "You were, weren't you?" he said pressing their foreheads together. "And now you're Dandelion, and you're here with me."

"I am," Dandelion said still shocked.

Geralt kissed him, as Ciri cried softly knowing her fathers were granted a second chance. For Geralt had loved Jaskier with his whole being, had learned to love with him. And now, now he loved Dandelion.

"I love you," Geralt whispered.

And Dandelion knew he meant it. That he was loved fully in a way no mortal had been loved before.

"I love you too."

.

Some decades later, when a human body went more fragile, and even a witcher started to get old, they decided it was time. They changed their route and went on their last journey. It was an old house, and it needed repairs, but had years to do them. And when there was nothing left to do they lived their final years together in peace. In their house by the coast, the witcher and his bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this fic and that it was both heartbreaking and healing. It might not have been your run of the mille reincarnation fic, but as I was writing I realized that Dandelion deserved to be loved for who he was now, not who he had been. Even if Geralt loving Dandelion meant a happy ending for his love story with Jaskier. I do hope my story has managed to have reached your hearts as it did mine. Thank you for reading.


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